Children of the Forest
by FantasiaWandering
Summary: Only a fool would flee into the Demon Wood, but April, pursued by the minions of the Lord who took her father and would now take her life, is left with little choice. But just when all seems lost, four green demons come to her aid, and she learns that that there is light to be found in the darkest forest, and that family can be found in the unlikeliest places. Fantasy AU
1. Chapter 1

_This is the first thing that's not my idea, and I realize that for someone who doesn't really like AU's, I'm writing an awful lot of them. But when I first saw Nicollini's Robin-hood-esque AU drawings, I wanted to write the story so badly it hurt. And wonder of wonders, she let me. So here it is. Now run to nicollini on tumblr and look up her tmnt-au tag to see the gloriousness of her illustrations. The ideas and character design are hers. I just put all the pieces together._

* * *

**Children of the Forest: Chapter 1**

Sleep, fleeting and elusive, was to be denied her again, it seemed. April sighed as she stared up at the canopy above her bed, the rich embroidery illuminated at unpredictable intervals by the intrusive flickers of lightning. First it was the dreams, then the unending cycle of thoughts in her head, and now even the weather conspired to keep rest from her. Thunder cracked again, shaking the walls and the bed beneath her, and she couldn't keep back the sting of tears from her eyes. When she had been younger, she had run to her father during storms like this, seeking comfort in the warmth of his arms. But now there was no such relief. For her father had kissed her goodbye all those months ago, and set out to negotiate peace with Idara, and never returned. But despite Lord Oroku's urgings to give up the search and accept that her father was gone, she simply could not do it. So she lay, awake until all hours of the night, alone with her troublesome thoughts.

Though perhaps fate had something different in mind. Lightning flashed once again, and had she been asleep as she ought to have been, she would have missed the shadowed figure with the drawn knife leaning over her bed. With a sharp intake of breath, she rolled away as the blade came down, and it caught only the edge of her arm, slicing through the thin fabric of her sleeping shift and the skin beneath rather than driving into her heart as its wielder had intended.

April's cry was masked by the thunder, but she had taken the assassin by surprise. He had not expected her to wake, and it was time enough to seize the bedsheets and sling them over his head. As he struggled with them, a formless shape beneath the cloth, she ran. Not for the door, where there were sure to be others waiting, but to the opening beneath the tapestry on the wall that would take her down a hidden corridor to the north wing.

She tried to go quietly, careful not to alert the figure in the next room. She could buy herself time, at least. The only sounds that filled the corridor were her ragged breath and the soft padding of her bare feet against the stones, easily masked by the storm raging outside. But though her progress was as silent as she could make it, her mind was a clamoring tumult to rival the fury of the storm.

_How has this happened? Lord Oroku doubled the guard when my father went missing. How could they have let these assassins past? Why did no one come when I cried out? Why-_

She glanced over her shoulder, watching for pursuit, and so was unprepared for the collision with the figure in the shadows of the corridor before her. Hands locked on her shoulders, stopping her before she could fall, and April drew a breath to scream. A hard hand clamped down over her mouth, and this new attacker pressed April back against the wall. In another moment, however, she recognized the feel of the gauntlets sheathing the hands that held her, and the flickering light of the storm through the filigreed windows high on the walls threw a familiar silhouette into sharp relief.

"Karai…" she breathed as Karai's hand left her mouth, and her hands came up to grip the armour encasing the other girl's arms. "My room! They-"

"I know," Karai said, and her voice was flat, drained of her usual wry, sardonic humour. Karai seized April's wrist, and she began to drag her down the corridor. "We must hurry, highness."

"Your father must hear about this," April said, panting as she tried to ignore the pain in her arm. "He-"

Karai stopped then, and turned to look over her shoulder. And in the unreliable light of the storm, April caught sight of her warden's expression, and felt her heart turn to ice. "No…" she whispered. "Oh, please no…"

"My _father_," Karai said, and the word was dripping with anger and confusion, "has his own ideas about how this kingdom should be run, and you are no longer a part of them." Her hand tightened around April's wrist. "And once I should have been glad of that. But that… that was before I knew you. Now I don't know what to think. But of one thing I am sure." She brought up her other hand, resting it on April's shoulder. "I am your warden, and I am not about to let you die on my watch."

As Karai had spoken, the ice around April's heart had continued to grow, squeezing the breath from her, but at those final words, it cracked, and despite herself, a few tears spilled down her face as lightning flashed once more. Karai tsked, but her voice gentled as she wiped the tears from April's cheeks. "Come, highness. No time for that. It will be dawn soon, and we must get you well away from here before then."

April lurched after Karai as her warden tugged her forward again, her eyes going wide. "Away? But…"

But of course Karai was right. April could not stay. Not if Lord Oroku had decided that she was no longer necessary to his plans. Over the year since her father's disappearance - _she would _not_ say death_ - Lord Oroku's influence had crept throughout the court and the kingdom so slowly, so inexorably, that she had barely noticed it happening. Until now, as she wracked her brain for somewhere, _anywhere_, that she could go for help, and found that she could not come up with a single one that she could trust to be unswayed by the lord who had made himself so indispensable to her father.

Moving away from the outer walls, what little light there was vanished, and April was left with only the creaking leather of Karai's armour to lead her through the dark. She didn't ask where they were going; the smell told her plainly enough: hay and horse, growing stronger as they descended. Finally, after an eternity in the darkness, there was a slight lessening of the endless black as Karai cautiously cracked a door and peered out. "Good. Be quick, highness."

April squeezed through the door into the shelter of the stacked bales of hay that concealed it. Straining on her toes to peer over Karai's shoulder, April could see her horse, waiting and saddled.

"Clear," Karai murmured, and tugged April forward, pushing her toward the horse. Karai reached for a satchel slung across the doorway to the stall, and tossed it at April. "No time to change. You must go quickly." Without waiting for an answer, she unbolted the stall, pushing the door open and leading the horse toward April.

She stared at Karai in mounting horror as she took in just what the bag and the single horse meant.

"You're not coming?" April's voice sounded small and weak in the face of the thunder, and as Karai looked at her, the other woman's expression softened.

"I can't, highness," she said. "Someone must make sure your path is clear." Karai stepped forward, resting both hands on April's shoulders. "You, my princess, are strong, and brave, and stubborn as a thick-headed mule. You can do this."

Smiling despite herself, April drew herself up and nodded. Slinging the bag across her back, she swung herself up in the saddle and turned the horse toward the door. But as she looked down at Karai, a hundred unsaid things rushed to fill her, and she found herself suddenly overwhelmed by emotion. "Karai, I…" Her fingers knotted in the reins.

Her eyes bright with understanding, Karai shook her head. "No time," she said brusquely, and ran for the door. Moments later, April could hear her distant voice calling to the guards on the wall. "A traitor rides for the south gate! Quickly, before she escapes!"

April's hands tightened further, and the horse shifted beneath her, sensing her unease. The wound in her arm burned, and there was a sweat on her brow that dripped into her eyes and stung, and she wiped it away impatiently, trying to still the tremors of fear that shook her limbs. There was nowhere else to go. No other choice. She would have to ride into the Demon Wood, and hope she could make it through before the assassins realized where she had gone.

Or the demons stole her soul.

Drawing a deep breath, she urged the horse forward into the lessening dark.

* * *

She had hoped. For one brief, fleeting moment, she had actually let herself believe that she had gotten away. Then, hours after the rain had stopped and the sun had crested the horizon, as she had allowed her weary horse to choose its own pace along the narrow trail that ran along the edge of the forest, she had heard the undeniable sounds of pursuit behind her.

April urged the horse to run again, but the trail was winding and uneven - few people were brave or foolhardy enough to venture this close to the haunted trees - and it was slow going. Gradually, the sounds of pursuit grew louder, and she knew that she would not evade capture if she continued on this path. With a whimpered plea to the four gods, she hauled on the reins and the horse plunged into the shadowed gloom beneath the trees.

Despite the fear that poured thick through her veins, choking her with the intensity of it, she could not help but feel a little awed as the horse pounded through the verdant wood. She had heard tales of course, friends of friends of a relative who had ventured into the forest on a youthful dare or an attempt to prove their mettle, but nobody she knew had ever gone into the forest. It was dark, and cursed, and dangerous.

Nobody had ever told her it was beautiful.

Massive trees raised gnarled trunks toward the sky, so big that it would have taken ten men standing fingertip-to-fingertip to reach all the way around. The trunks and branches dripped with emerald vines and moss like an elderly lady displaying her fine jewellery, and the forest laid out a soft carpet of ferns beneath to catch shining droplets of moisture as they fell.

They had hesitated, Oroku's men, as afraid of the forest as any of the villagers, but she could hear them pursuing again. Her heels dug into the horse's sides, and she wished desperately that she dared slow long enough to dig her sword and dagger out from the satchel on her back, where she could feel them digging into her spine. But even that delay was too much. She kicked the horse again as it raced along the edge of an embankment, begging with him in hushed tones to continue, to bear her just a little farther.

There was no warning. One moment she was glancing over her shoulder, searching for signs of pursuit, and the next she turned back just in time to see the massive owl, its pale brown feathers practically glowing in the dim, green-tinted light, swoop in front of her in its pursuit of prey. Her horse reared, bellowing in terror, and suddenly the world was spinning. Up was down, and down was up, and she was flying, no, falling, no ground to catch her as the embankment dropped away beneath her. She felt something tear and give way as her feet finally connected with the steep incline, and she screamed in pain as her ankle wrenched backward.

When she finally rolled to a stop at the bottom of the hill, she could do nothing more than lay for a few moments, panting, staring down at the tattered, mud-stained hem of her shift. It hid the damage in the ankle that radiated pain along the length of her leg, and part of her wished it to stay that way, afraid to see the damage that lay beneath. Her fingers twitched, stirring pine needles and leaves and raising the smell of loam, and she eased herself to a sitting position, biting her lip as even that tiny movement sent another knife of pain stabbing through her ankle. Carefully, she drew her shift away from her foot, and caught her breath at the angry, swollen purple of the joint beneath. April let out a tiny whimper of despair, but no more. She didn't have time for self-pity. It wouldn't take long for Oroku's men to realize that her horse no longer had a rider.

Now, at last, she could ease the satchel around, withdrawing the small, slender weapons within. She buckled the dagger around her waist over her filthy sleeping shift, but the sword she left free. It was long enough to help her ease herself to her feet, just enough to help support her as she gingerly inched forward. Carefully, she took a tentative step.

Instantly, she regretted it, and she tasted blood as she bit down to keep from screaming again. She felt like she was still falling, the ground rolling before her in a way that it had no right to, and she was burning and frozen at once, and her ankle felt as though a hundred knives had stabbed into it, but she still could not afford to stop. For she could once again hear pursuit behind her.

She had no concept of the passage of time as she dragged herself through the trees. All she could focus on was the pain, the tearing sensation in her ankle each time she moved, the stings of the small cuts dug into her bare feet by the sharp sticks and tree needles hidden beneath the ferns, the burning of her breath in her lungs and the wound in her arm and the sweat that poured down her face. She fell, several times, forcing herself back up each time, and it could have been hours or only minutes until the moment when she fell into a cluster of bushes and could not get up again.

For a long while, she could only lie there, shaking from the effort it took to keep from crying. How had she ever thought she could do this? What on earth had possessed her to run into the Demon Wood on her own? Seasoned hunters had perished beneath the shadows of these trees; why had she ever thought that a princess who had barely been outside the city walls could ever manage it?

A soft rustle, barely a sound, caught her attention. Brushing her tangled hair from her eyes, she shifted, her hand slowly lowering a large leaf next to her face until she could see what lay beyond.

A small creek ran next to where she lay sprawled, its waters barely fast enough to make a slight laughing trickle in the air. But it was the creature next to it, its delicate head bent to drink the water, that made her breath catch in her throat.

It resembled a deer somewhat, small and graceful, about half the size of an ordinary deer. Rather than a rack of branching antlers, however, it sported two small horns that twined together above its brow into a single crooked spire. The dappled brown hide looked soft as velvet, and April's fingers itched to touch it despite her current condition.

An eliara. She had heard of them, but thought them only legend. Renowned for their incredible speed, and the allegedly miraculous healing properties of powder made from their horns.

Beyond the eliara, there was a slight shifting of the leaves on the bushes. Slight enough that April would have taken it for no more than the wind, but the eliara raised its head suddenly, its enormous dark eyes searching the glade as crystal droplets of water dripped from its chin to sink into the soft white fur of its chest. It was that warning that gave April pause, making her look deeper, with the concentration that Karai had chided her for ignoring so often. And it was only then that she saw the blue eyes peering from the green face that the bushes concealed.

_Demon…_

Tears slipped down April's face as fear returned, doubled upon doubled. Oroku's men were bad enough - they could only kill her body. But a demon could destroy her soul as well. What had she done to deserve this? She moved, preparing to run, but the eliara was faster, bounding straight toward the bushes where April hid. The demon struck then as well, exploding in a blur of green from its hiding place, and though the eliara was small enough to swerve past April as it leaped into her hiding place, the demon was not so prepared. April had a brief moment of searing pain as the demon collided with her, had a vague awareness of startled blue eyes and rough, scaled fingers grasping at her torn shift, and a scream ripped from her throat as she drew her dagger, slashing toward the creature.

The demon screamed back, nearly as shrill, dodging her strike with inhuman speed and grace, and leaped back toward the creek. April did not wait to see it go, staggering from her now-useless hiding place, screaming again as her abused ankle took her weight, and she stumbled. That stumble saved her, for the next thing she knew, an arm swept through the air where her head had been, and she found herself blinking dumbly up at one of Lord Oroku's men.

The next few moments were a blurred confusion of sound, and noise, and motion, and pain, as she struck desperately with her dagger at the four men who converged on her. She may have been a princess, but Karai did not believe in her charge being defenseless, and April managed to get a hit or two on her assailants before one of them caught her wrist, twisting it, and she dropped the dagger with a cry. And then the confusion grew worse as a green shadow dropped from the trees, two men falling noiselessly beneath the flash of silver in its hands before the others even noticed it was there. April heard the cries of her attackers, the breathless shriek of "_demon!_", before they turned and fled back into the trees, and then that green shadow was looming over her. One of the blades in its hands slid into a sheath at its back, and it reached into a pouch at its belt. It drew something from it, dashing it into April's face, and she choked as a sweet dust entered her lungs.

Almost immediately, a languor began to spread through her body, and she sagged back against the ground, her vision clouding over. She was floating, buoyed by the half-sleep the powder had brought, and though it had stolen her will and her ability to move, it had also wrapped her mind in a blissful fog that kept her pain at a distance.

And so it was that she was able to focus on the voices that drifted above her, weaving a net with their words that pinned her and held her fast.

"Mikey! Are you all right?"

"Leo! You_ followed_ me?"

"We all followed you," a third voice chimed in, deeper and gruffer than the other two.

"I don't believe this!" the second voice was shrill with frustration. "You didn't trust me at all!"

"Of course we trusted you," added a fourth voice, terse and impatient. "We also_ know_ you. We just decided to make ourselves available nearby in case anything happened."

"And a good thing we did," said the gruff voice. "Leo caught a human."

"He _what_?" cried the impatient voice. "What were you _thinking_?"

"I was _thinking_ that she was attacking Mikey and I wasn't going to stand for that." There was a soft sound, like that of flesh lightly striking flesh. "What was I supposed to do, Donnie?"

"Looks like she wasn't alone." The deep voice sounded worried.

"I think they were after her," said the voice of her captor.

"This her blade?" asked the gruff one.

"Yes," came her captor's voice. "This one too."

"It's marked." The gruff voice sounded impressed. "So she fought back." There was a soft laugh. "Good for her."

"That blood could have been Mikey's," said her captor, annoyed.

"Brothers." The voice of the first demon spoke, softer now, more childlike without the thread of frustration running through it, and his voice sounded very close, as though he were kneeling next to her, though she still could see no more than a green blur before her eyes. "She's crying."

There was a shifting around her, the sound of feet drawing closer against the carpet of leaves and tree needles on the forest floor, and the voice of the third drifted down from close to her ear, gentle as it lost the edge of irritation. "I think she's hurt." A hand brushed against her dripping brow, followed by a sharp gasp. "She's burning up. That's not the sleep dust. Something's really wrong."

"So what are we supposed to do?" the gruff one demanded. "She's a human. Nothing good ever comes of humans. They're trouble."

"Not_ all_ humans," said the young one.

"Storyteller's different." The gruff voice was defensive now. "I'm not even sure she_ is_ human."

"We can't just leave her here," the gentle voice said, scaled hands running carefully over April's limbs, prodding occasionally, and a small whimper worked its way through the fog and the lethargy as those rough fingers brushed across her ankle. "What do we do, Leo?"

There was a long silence, broken only by the soft sounds of the forest creatures, before there came a weary sigh. "We take her to Father and ask him what to do."

There was another long silence before the gentle one asked, "are you sure?"

"It's that or leave her here. You want to do that?"

The hand brushed over her hair once, followed by another sigh. "No."

More hands touched her now, tying a strip of soft cloth across her eyes and binding her hands behind her back, and she groaned as the movement pulled on the burning wound in her arm.

"Is that really necessary?" the gentle one asked.

"Until we know who she is and what she's capable of, we can't- Raph! What are you doing?"

"Taking this armour to Father. Maybe if he knows the crest they're wearing, it'll help us figure her out." There was a soft thud, followed by a derisive snort. "_He's_ not going to be needing it any more."

Then the gentle hands lifted her, cradling her against something cool and hard, and the world swam, the fog growing thicker around her as she went limp against the demon. She was so tired of fighting… it would be so easy to just give up… and yet she clung to consciousness. She had come so far, pushed through so much….

April lost track of time again as they moved through the forest. There was a sense of swiftness, a breeze against her sweat-damp skin, but the demons made almost no sound, and the gentle one was careful not to jostle her wounds any further. At last, a new sound made its way through the song of the forest, growing louder as they drew near, until she could make it out as the thunder of water falling.

"Sorry," the gentle voice murmured. "This is going to be a little cold…"

She felt the demon move, shifting around her as though to shield her from something, but despite its best efforts, a wave of chill water slammed into her, icy against her fevered skin, and she cried out in shock and pain.

_"What in the name of the ancestors do you mean by this?"_

This voice was new, and rang through the air with an unmistakable authority. There was a moment of stunned shock from the four demons, before four voices began tumbling over one another in an attempt to explain.

"Enough!"

Silence fell again, and soft footsteps approached. "Donatello. Explain."

"She's hurt, Father," said the gentle one. "Her ankle, and a cut on her arm, and some other scratches, but there's something else. She's feverish, and the sleep sand wouldn't have done that to her."

New hands moved against her arm, parting the ragged, blood-soaked fabric of her shift, and the new voice, this father of demons, let out a soft oath under his breath. "I know that scent. The blade that made this was poisoned." He let the cloth fall back against her skin. "The toxin is an insidious one, but she caught only the edge of it. Fortunate for her, it would seem."

"There were men after her," said the leader's voice.

"They were wearing this," added the gruff one.

"Can we keep her?" the youngest asked, followed by a brief retort that sounded like a slap, and a muffled, "...ow."

The sound that this Father made spoke volumes. It spoke of weariness, and mistrust, and a fear of future regret, and helpless resignation. "Lay her here. There are things we must prepare, and quickly, if we are to save her."

She was moved again, laid down on something that was blissfully soft after the unforgiving forest floor, and as she was shifted, her awareness began to fade. She could hear the Father's voice continuing to bark instructions, the movements and shouts of the demons around her as they hurried to obey. But she could make out none of it until a hand rested against her brow, not scaled, but soft. The Father's voice spoke again, wrapping around her like gentle silk.

"You can rest now, child. You are in our hands, and we will not let you fall. Trust in us, and sleep."

And with that final, serene permission, April let herself slip away into darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

_If there are typos in this one, forgive me. I have no Internet access for another few days or so, and I'm frantically trying to get this up before my access at the coffee shop runs out. :p_

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**Chapter 2**

It was a cruel irony that April had finally achieved the sleep that had been denied her so long, for though she did sleep, her dreams were dark, and cruel. She dreamed of shadows in the dark, bearing long blades that bit and cut into her. Of those she had thought to be friends turning their backs on her, only to reveal that they had two faces, and that the hidden face was a twisted, leering thing with dark eyes and sharp fangs. Of being pursued relentlessly through gnarled, grasping trees, unable to stop though her feet had been cut into so badly that she feared to look down lest she see that they were gone.

And she dreamed of her father. Lost in a dark, featureless place, she heard the familiar, beloved voice calling her name. She ran, stumbling through the dark, until he appeared before her, and his loving smile warmed her like nothing had been able to since he had vanished.

But when she touched him, the smile vanished from his face. Cracks appeared, spreading through his skin like fissures through ice, and then he shattered, falling apart like an empty suit of armour.

_That_ dream brought her partway to waking, and she thrashed, crying out against the dark. But there were hands to catch her, and voices, soft and kind. They brought cool cloths to her brow, and a bowl of something to her lips, warm and astringent, that tingled as she swallowed and left her pleasantly numb in its wake. A gentle hand, moving against her hair, softly, soothing. The voices, lulling her back to sleep.

When she slept again, the dreams left her untroubled.

* * *

It was some time later that she woke truly, and it was not an instantaneous transition from sleep into waking, but more of a long, slow slide. She became aware first of the music that surrounded her. A chorus of birdsong, and insects humming, and beneath it all, the faint, faraway thrumming of the waterfall mixing with the soft song of a smaller trickle nearby. It was chaotic, and wild, and beautiful, and she felt that she might almost understand it if she could just listen a little more closely.

But more senses began to return, and her lungs filled with air redolent with the green scents of growing things. There was moss, and loam, and other scents as well. Herbs, and flowers, wrapping her in the perfume of the forest until she was floating on it.

Softness, then, beneath her. Something covering her, enveloping her in warmth.

Only then was she able to open her eyes, and they watered from the brightness around her. Raising a hand to shield her eyes, she winced a little as it pulled on the wound in her arm—

Her eyes widened as memory flooded back to her, and she bolted upright with a breathless gasp. Her hand went to the wound the assassin's knife had left – _did she remember something about poison? –_ but her questing fingers encountered a tightly-wrapped bandage over the wound. Her tattered, blood-soaked sleeping shift was gone; in its place was a shapeless tunic of a pale brown homespun. It was a little rough beneath her fingertips, but it was also clean, and dry, and warm beneath the sunlight. Warily, she tugged it up a little, but the ankle beneath was wrapped as well as her arm, and didn't look nearly as frighteningly swollen as it had before. There were more bandages on her feet, the wrappings neat and expertly done.

"What th-ahhh, you're awake!"

April let out a small squeak at the outburst that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, echoing around her, but try as she might, craning her neck first one way and then the other, she couldn't find the speaker. Though perhaps that soft sound might have been the echo of footsteps retreating down a corridor, and she thought she recognized the voice as belonging to one of the demons. The gentle one, if she was not mistaken.

And then there was no room for wondering, for she finally took in the room around her, and was overcome for a moment by the magnitude of it all. Verdant green stretched away around her, sloping gently upward to walls painted green by moss and vines. She lay on a soft pallet, and a garden of herbs surrounded her, bobbing bright floral heads toward her as a few solitary bees went about their business. Further out, a garden of ferns stretched away to the leafy bushes that grew up against what appeared to be an opening in the wall. And before her lay a clear pond, a few lilies drifting on its surface, fed by a trickling waterfall that tumbled down from the opening in the roof of ...wherever she was. Sunlight poured down upon her, bright and warm, illuminating the motes dancing in the air around her. This place... it was magical. She had never seen anything like it. But as she continued to stare, a chill of unease crept over her, and she drew the tunic more tightly around her. She could see no doors, and the opening above her was impossibly far away. Was this some sort of prison then?

"Ah. You have truly awakened."

The voice that drifted through the cavern was familiar, though it gave her a start, for she had heard no one approach. Squinting against the light, she thought she could make out a shadow between the bushes on the far side of the cave. But it was far too tall – and shaped too strangely – to ever be mistaken for human.

She supposed that she should have been afraid, but the memory of the soft voices and gentle hands was still upon her, and so she settled for hugging her arms tightly around her middle as she nodded. "Please," she said. "Why have you brought me here?"

"Do not be afraid," the voice told her, and she frowned at it.

"I'm _not_ afraid."

A soft chuckle drifted through the cavern, laughing at her, though not unkindly. "Very well. But I hope you can remain so fierce as we discuss your situation face to face."

The bushes rustled softly, and the shadow moved toward her, and it was all April could do to fight back the scream that bubbled up from the back of her throat. But the remembered gentleness, and the care with which her arm and feet had been wrapped, forced it back and kept it at bay as she made herself look at him without fear.

_Rat_. It was the only suitable word for him, if a rat grew to the height of the tallest of men. He was clad strangely, in loose trousers of a dark brown fabric, which ended in wraps that extended over his feet... April's glance shied away from the three-toed foot and the alien way that the fourth toe protruded from it. The trousers were belted with a strip of black material, and he wore nothing else save a long, sleeveless hooded robe of a light brown fabric that hung open, exposing the white patterning against the dark fur of his chest. His arms were covered in the same paler wraps as his feet, and around his upper left arm he bore a binding of dark brown, the ends hanging loose. The arm binding served no appreciable purpose that she could see, but something about it struck her as important.

Steeling herself, she forced herself to look at the rest of him now. The brown and white fur covering his body. The cupped ears, so thin that light shone through them toward the ends. The long, narrow muzzle, and the serpentine tail twining about his feet. But it was his eyes, and the kindness in them, that made her believe for the first time that she might look on him without fear. "What..." she began, but could not finish the sentence. In light of the depths of wisdom and intelligence she could see in the warmth of his brown eyes, it seemed unforgivably rude.

"What am I?" He finished her sentence for her, and she flushed deeply. But he only chuckled again, one hand drifting up to stroke the thin beard that hung from his chin. "Your kind would call me a demon. But in the land from which I came, my people have another name. We call ourselves 'kerema', and there my kind lives in peace with yours." He inclined his head. "The race to which my sons belong is shy and reclusive, but they are known there as well. There, they are called 'kappa.'"

"Your..." her head reeled as her understanding of the world began to shift beneath her. "So... you aren't demons?"

"No," he said. "We are not. Though I will admit that the stories have served to keep undesirable attention away from us and our home, so I cannot be entirely ungrateful for that."

"So... if you don't want to eat my soul," she said slowly. "Why am I here?"

There was a soft sound from the edge of the cavern to her left, a muffled exclamation of disgust, and the gruff voice was familiar. She stared at the tangle of moss and vines that covered the wall, and only when she let her eyes unfocus, descending into the place of observation Karai had taught her, did she see the wary green eyes staring back at her.

Her breath caught a little; now that she had seen him, she could not believe that she had missed him before. He reclined against the wall, tension written in every line of his body as he stared at her. His green skin blended perfectly with the dappled greenery on the wall, and even the braided belt around his waist and straps across his chest that held some manner of wooden weapons across his back could have been mistaken for more of the vinework on the wall. The only thing that could not was the strip of deep crimson fabric bound around his upper left arm, but that was mostly hidden by an overhanging branch.

"You were gravely injured," the rat said, gesturing toward her arm, but April was staring past him. There was a second kappa behind him, in the shadow of the bushes, watching her with guarded concern. Two sword hilts peeped over his shoulder, marking him as the one who had captured her, and the binding around his arm was blue.

"I think I remember," she said, her hand brushing against the dressing on her arm. "Something about... about poison?"

"Yes," he answered her, and there was pity in his expression. "You are fortunate my sons decided to bring you here, for if they had left you where you were, it would have finished you, even if the soldiers chasing you had not. Even so, it was a near thing. But my people have knowledge of such things, and my son and I were able to prepare an infusion that neutralized most of the toxin's effects."

As he spoke, he glanced toward the wall near the waterfall, and following his gaze, April found the third one. He leaned against a bladed spear, watching intently, but when her gaze fell upon him, he started. His expression softened into an almost bashful smile, revealing a small gap between his teeth, and he ducked his head as colour rose to his cheeks, and April remembered the gentle voice that had woven through her dreams. He, too, bore the binding around his arm, though his was a deep violet.

"Then... I owe you my life." April bowed her head. "I cannot even begin to thank you."

The rat folded his arms. "You may begin by telling us why the men who pursued you bear the sigil of Oroku Saki."

Shivering, April wrapped her arms more tightly around herself. "Lord Oroku came to our court almost fifteen years ago," she said. "He was my father's most trusted advisor. Only... I believe that he never intended to settle for merely being the voice behind the throne. I think, this whole time, he must have wanted it for himself."

There was a gasp from the ferns next to her, and April let out a small squeak as a familiar pair of blue eyes widened as they stared at her. "But that means..."

The youngest demon, the one who started this whole ordeal, leaped from the ferns next to her, dancing from foot to foot as he pointed at her. "She's the princess! Brothers, we have a _princess_! In our _house!_" He laughed, dropping to his knees beside her pallet. "This is _much_ better than a parakeet."

"She's not a pet!" the gruff one protested.

"Besides which, we can't keep her," said her captor.

"Why not?" the gentle one demanded.

April, for her part, was too busy at the shell that the youngest's leap into the light had revealed. "You're turtles!" she blurted out.

"Kappa!" the four corrected in one voice.

But all of them fell silent as their father raised a hand. "My sons," he said to April, by way of introduction, and gestured to each in turn. "Leonardo. Donatello. Michelangelo. And Raphael." The names were strange, unlike any she had ever heard, but there was a rightness to them as well, that seemed to fit these strange creatures.

She blushed a little, suddenly finding herself the focus of a great deal of attention. "I'm April," she said. "And you are?"

He smiled at her, and inclined his head. "I am called Splinter," he said.

"Well then... Splinter," she said, folding her hands in her lap. "Will you tell me how long I am to be a prisoner here?"

That was met with gasps from the four turtles around her, and Michelangelo rocked back on his heels. "April," he said, his voice gently chiding. "We _rescued_ you. You're not a prisoner. Tell her, Father." He looked expectantly up at the kerema, but Splinter remained silent, and Michelangelo's carefree grin faded to an expression of bewilderment.

"Father?" Donatello stepped forward, his hands tightening on his spear. "Tell her she's not a prisoner."

But Splinter only looked at her, a mixture of resolution and regret in his face. "You must understand, princess, I have spent the last fifteen years ensuring my sons' safety by keeping this place – and them – a secret."

April nodded. "I understand. So I feel it is my duty to inform you that as heir to the throne of this kingdom, I am honour bound to attempt to escape."

Splinter's ear twitched, and she could have sworn that he was fighting back a smile. "And it is my duty to inform you that as patriarch and arts master of this tribe, I am honour bound to stop you."

"Good." April dusted off her hands. "We have an understanding."

"Indeed," Splinter said, and there were definite hints of laughter in his voice now.

Michelangelo, meanwhile, was looking from one to another with steadily increasing shades of bewilderment on his face. "Wait... what just _happened?_"

"I think they just negotiated an armistice," Leonardo said, and for the first time, the look he turned on her was something other than serious. He was smiling a little as he gave her the barest of nods, acknowledging the situation for what it was, and she returned it.

"Now then," Splinter said. "Let us have some tea. You shall remain here – it is my son's expert opinion that the sunshine will do you good." His tone was lightly teasing as he rested a hand against Donatello's shoulder in passing. "And who am I to argue with his expertise."

Donatello reddened again as Splinter walked toward the bushes at the far end of the cavern, with Leonardo and Raphael in tow. April watched curiously as they vanished, realizing for the first time that there was some sort of curtain behind the bushes that concealed the rest of... of wherever this was from view.

She turned her attention to Donatello as he sat next to her, and gestured at her ankle. "So do I have you to thank for this?"

"Huh?" he blinked, suddenly awkward, and reddened even further. "Oh, yes. Your feet are put together a little bit differently than ours, but Father has some healing texts, and I was able to figure out the best wrapping to speed the healing of your strange joints." He gasped, his eyes widening. "N-not that I think you're strange! Just your feet! But they're very nice. Feet, I mean. I—"

Michelangelo slapped a hand over his brother's mouth, stopping the babble mid-stream, and tugged lightly at the loose end of the binding that covered the wound on April's arm. "How's your arm feel? It looked really scary for a while, and you were really sick. But Donnie and Master Splinter looked in the dusty old books they have, and found the recipe for a potion that made you better!"

Donatello tugged his brother's hand away from his mouth. "More of a restorative antidote, really," he said. "And Father knew most of it – kerema are masters of herblore, you know."

"No, I didn't," April said, lightly teasing, and he blushed again.

"Amongst other things," Splinter's dry voice drifted across the space toward them as he returned, and he and the two turtles accompanying them each held two steaming cups in their hands, and Splinter handed one to April.

She took it gratefully, for despite the warmth of the sunlight, she was starting to shiver, and beads of cold sweat pricked at her brow. She wrapped her hands around the warm cup, breathing in the fragrant steam before drinking deeply. With a soft sigh, she let the heat of the tea spread through her, warming her from the inside out.

"I'm sorry to have to ask this," Leonardo said as he handed one of the cups he carried to Donatello. "But do you think that more men are likely to come looking for you?"

April stared down at the tea for a moment. "Not likely," she said. "The stories people tell about demons in the woods are..." She took an uncomfortable sip of her tea. "Not kind. Chances are, the ones who got away have told him that I'm already dead. Just like—" _Like my father._ But the words wouldn't come past the lump in her throat, and she took another large gulp of tea to clear it.

"Well," said Raphael, who had dropped down next to Michelangelo. "At least that gives us some time to figure this mess out."

"What's to figure out," Michelangelo said, setting down his tea so that he could gesture emphatically without getting it all over Raphael. "You guys never let me keep anything! Now we've got a princess!"

"We let you keep one thing," Leonardo pointed out, sipping his tea.

Michelangelo pouted. "Only because you make her work!"

Following the exchange was growing difficult, and April brought her hands to her temples, rubbing gently. "What I don't understand," she said, "is how you recognized the sigil Lord Oroku's men wore."

Splinter's expression darkened, his fingers tightening around his own cup. "His reach is long, and he is not unknown to us. But it is a long tale, and not quite appropriate for the moment."

"Why?" April asked. "What..." She trailed off, clinging to her empty cup. "What..." She blinked, but it did nothing to clear the blurring in her eyes, or the way the room was spinning around her. "What...did you put... in the tea?"

The cup fell from her numb fingers, and she began to slide sideways. With a soft cry, Donatello moved, tossing his cup to Leonardo and diving for her in the same movement, so that it was his arms that caught her and not the rocks beside her pallet. The arms were not unfamiliar, either. _Ah. So it _was_ you._ She stared up at him, and though she was quickly losing her ability to speak, she saw on his face that he could read the fear in her eyes.

"Oh, no, it's nothing like that," Donatello said quickly. "Just more of the antidote, and it makes you sleepy. You'll be fine. I promise."

"Indeed," Splinter said. "The toxin is a pernicious one. You will recover, I am certain of that, but you have more healing to do. Rest now, and we will come to a solution when you are well."

She didn't have much of a choice; the herbs in the tea were doing their work well, numbing her senses and bearing her off to the darkness again. But at the very end, just before sleep claimed her entirely, she could feel Donatello laying her carefully down on the pallet again, and something soft covering her, keeping her warm against the chill of the toxin still creeping through her system. And when the rough, three-fingered hand stroked her hair again, there was a strange comfort in it, and she slept without fear or dreaming.


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks again to everyone who left feedback for this story! Be sure to head over to nicollini's tumblr too ( period com). That's where all the amazing art for the story is. Sometimes she comes up with a point in art and I write it into the story, and sometimes I write it and she illustrates it afterward, but the art is always amazing, and this story wouldn't exist without her. She needs some love, too. :)_

* * *

**Chapter 3**

April woke once that night, very briefly. At first, she was only aware of the darkness, and a warmth that swaddled her in softness. Then, as her eyes and ears began to work once again, the darkness filled with the warmth of firelight and the soft crackling of flames. She hung suspended in some kind of hammock, securely wrapped in blankets and furs, and as she gazed overhead, the firelight danced across rough stone decorated in charcoal and a dark red pigment. The figures drawn onto the rock had shells - save for the tall, rat-like one, - and they cavorted across the walls and ceiling in what looked like some sort of elaborate dance. Interspersed with the turtles were other drawings: trees, flowers, animals, and occasionally handprints. The drawings and handprints glowed in solid blocks of pigment and in negative space framed by the red and black, as though the artist had become bored with his project halfway through and decided to try something different.

"Do you really think we can trust her, Father?"

April turned her head very slightly, just enough to see the five figures seated around a fire in the centre of the cave. Her brow furrowed a little, wondering at how clean the air was despite a fire in the enclosed space, but a glance upward at the ceiling showed a cunning sort of chimney above the fire that funnelled the smoke and presumably took it elsewhere. Beyond the fire, the light illuminated the frame of two beds, one atop the other with a ladder leading to the top one. That explained where two of them slept, at least. She presumed there were other such arrangements situated where she could not see them without sitting up, which would draw more attention than she cared to at present. Belatedly, she realized that she was probably in someone's bed at that very moment, and felt a quiet pang of guilt as she wondered whom she was displacing.

"I trust that she will be true to her word and attempt to flee," Splinter said in answer to Leonardo's question, though there was amusement in his voice.

"After all we've done for her?" Michelangelo asked plaintively.

A snort from Raphael was his response. "What, you mean throw sleep sand at her, tie her up, and kidnap her?"

"The saving her life part wasn't so bad." Donatello poked at the fire with a stick.

"True," Splinter agreed, resting a hand against Donatello's shell. "But she has little more reason to trust us than we have to trust her. We must have patience, my sons. A solution will present itself in time."

There was more, but sleep drew her down again. Cocooned in warmth as the hammock swung gently, she drifted back to sleep.

* * *

When April woke again, it was to find the cave empty. She sat up warily, but she truly had been left alone. Blinking, she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and took stock of her surroundings. It was dim in the cave without the light of the fire, the pit at the centre of the room now cold and empty, but the low light had less to do with the time of day than it did to the fact that heavy curtains stitched together from thick fabric and animal hide hung on either end of the room. She could see the outline of light beyond each one, and her brow lifted. Surely one led to the garden she had found herself in the first time she woke, but the other...

She peered over the edge of the hammock, and found it a long way down, particularly when an injured ankle awaited her. But as she twisted, trying to find another way out of her predicament, she discovered that the end of the hammock nearest her head was anchored to a thick log that had been wedged upright, snug between the floor and the ceiling of the cave. Someone had helpfully carved a series of notches to serve as hand- and foot-holds into the sturdy wood.

_Perfect._

Biting her lip, April eased herself carefully over the edge, letting her arms and her uninjured leg take her weight. The cuts on the foot of her good leg still stung as she crept her way down the stump, but the pain was far more bearable than it had been. After a seeming eternity she found herself securely on the ground again, and she let out her breath in a long sigh.

The soft sound was met by an imperious cry from the ground at her feet. With a start of alarm, April looked down and found a pair of wide golden eyes staring back at her. The cat was enormous - larger by far than the cats that prowled the stables at home, with tiny, folded ears and a series of handsome dark spots dappling her grey coat.

"Hello,"April said softly, easing herself down as best she could and holding out a hand. "Where did you come from?"

The cat sniffed at her hand for a moment before a rough tongue lapped against her skin, and the cat butted her head against April's hand in a clear order. Smiling despite herself, April obliged and scratched behind the cat's ears. "And who exactly is the princess here?" she whispered. The cat blinked at her and let out another commanding mew before trotting toward one of the curtains and vanishing beneath it.

"Well," April murmured. "I suppose that answers _that_ question."

Gingerly, using the wall for support, April managed to limp her way toward the curtain.

As she pushed past it, the ceaseless background roar of the waterfall grew louder, and she finally understood why. The tunnel beyond the curtain stretched toward daylight, but at the bottom of the gradual downward slope, the mouth of the tunnel was completely covered by another curtain - this one made of falling water. Making her careful way down the incline, still clinging to the wall, she was able to make out the narrow path that led past the waterfall to the outside world. It was rather brilliant - there was no way anyone on the shore beyond would be able to see the tunnel behind the water, and the curtain at the end of the tunnel ensured that even at night, no light would reach the entrance to give them away. She marvelled at the fact that anyone had found the cavern in the first place, for it was masterfully hidden. As she thought about it, she wasn't entirely sure whether she was comforted or unsettled by the idea that no one would ever find her while she remained hidden behind the waterfall.

She inched forward, just a little further, and was finally able to see that she was not alone after all.

The waterfall tumbled into a small, deep pool, and the demons gambolled in the clearing on the other side. Her hand drifted down to her hip, but of course they had not left her with her dagger. Her mouth twisting in a wry grin, April inched forward, attempting to see just what it was that they were up to.

They moved like water, twisting and twining in some kind of dance that took them over and around each other and in and out of the trees. Furrowing her brow, she crept forward a little further in order to get a better look. She was fairly certain that the dance they performed was the one depicted in the colourful artwork that adorned the walls and ceiling of the cave…

But then Leonardo grabbed Raphael's wrist as Raphael's hand shot out toward him, and with a twist that would have done any dancer proud, he rolled Raphael over his shoulder. The other turtle… demon… kappa… ended up on his back with Leonardo's blade pressed against his throat, and April realized that it wasn't any sort of dance at all.

They were fighting. More fluidly and gracefully than any warrior she had ever seen, but there was no other way to describe what was happening. While Leonardo pinned his brother, Donatello pursued Michelangelo, intent on delivering the same treatment that Leonardo had given Raphael. The taller kappa leaped, and the long bladed spear became a blur in his hands as he brought it to bear and plunged toward Michelangelo.

Despite herself, April let out a small squeak of alarm, shifting instinctively as the youngest kappa braced himself for the attack. That small shift was enough to bring her weight down on her injured ankle, and she found herself crying out in earnest as she overbalanced, her fingers scrabbling for purchase against the rock as she toppled toward the churning water of the pool.

But she didn't hit the water. Something soft, and warm, and solid caught her instead. Opening the eyes she had squeezed shut as she had braced herself for the shock of the cold water, she found herself looking up into Donatello's concerned brown eyes. "You caught me!" she said cleverly, and Donatello let out a self-conscious giggle as he ducked his head, blushing.

"Perhaps our guest would be more comfortable on this side of the pool," came Splinter's serene voice, and Donatello shook himself a little.

"Oh," he said, glancing over at the bank where the others had gathered and were watching with undisguised amusement. "Yes, of course."

He hefted April a little more securely against him, and her arms went around him almost automatically, seeking security despite the fact that she had the utmost confidence in the strength of his hands around her shoulders and beneath her knees. Donatello carried her quickly along the narrow path that wound around the rocky boundary of the pool, leaping the gaps where the path vanished entirely, until they were safe on the grassy shore. April, meanwhile, looked back at the intermittent pathway with a scowl on her face. There would be absolutely no navigating that mess until her ankle was well. But as Donatello set her atop a large boulder, she offered him her most courteous smile.

"That was very kind of you," she said, eliciting another giggle from him before he coughed and gestured at her ankle.

"How does it feel today?" he asked.

"Much better," she said, feeling the colour rise to her own cheeks beneath his scrutiny. "Thank you."

"You seem much improved this morning, highness," Splinter said, materializing from the undergrowth in a manner that made her start a little. He leaned on the green staff he held as he regarded her with clinical curiosity. "How is your head?"

"Fine," she said, wrapping her arms around herself. "Thank you again for your care."

A soft mew from the rocks above interrupted them, and something wet and slimy dropped down on April from above. She bit back a shriek as it flopped against her shoulder, and Donatello's hand lashed out to save her from her attacker. Which turned out to be a rather large fish. Glancing up, she found the cat perched on the rocks above her, looking immensely proud of herself.

"Aww, you met Klunk!" Michelangelo cried, appearing on her other side. "And she _likes_ you!"

April blinked at him. "Shouldn't she?"

"Oh sure," Michelangelo said with a wave of his hand. "But she usually takes a long time to warm up to people."

Donatello removed the fish from her, earning him a grateful look, and she returned her attention to Michelangelo. "And what sort of name is Klunk?"

"It's _her_ name," he answered proudly. "She's a fishing cat. I named her myself. She's the first pet I brought home that Leo actually let me keep! Until you."

Leo, coming up behind his brother, rested a hand on Michelangelo's head. "She's useful," he told his brother. "That's the condition. And April isn't a pet."

"Family doesn't have to be _useful_, Leo," Michelangelo said with a scowl. "They just have to like you."

"Good thing too, or we wouldn't be able to keep you, either," Raphael put in.

Michelangelo glared at him. "_Hey_!"

"If I may ask," April ventured, ignoring the 'pet' comment for now. Klunk leaped to the boulder, and April grunted a little as the enormous wildcat draped herself across her lap, purring so hard it made her teeth vibrate. "What is it that you were doing just now?"

Splinter gave a quiet chuckle as the kappa drew nearer. "It is one of the ancient arts of Umaya. There are many wonders in my homeland, but many dangers as well, and the ability to protect onesself and one's family is considered a mark of great honour."

"Father has been teaching us the warrior's art since we were very young," Leonardo said.

"The warrior's…" April relented to Klunk's incessant nudging at her hand and scratched the purring cat between the ears. "Is that what you meant by 'arts master'?"

"Yes...and no," Splinter answered. "The warrior's art is just one of the four that an arts master must acquire in order to earn that title. It is, however, one of the most difficult."

She looked over the earnest, open faces of the kappa that regarded her, and her attention drifted to the weapons held in the hands of three of them. And as it did so, a streak of anger flashed through her. They had kidnapped her and were holding her against her will, she had not forgotten that, but there was a kindness and innocence to them despite that, and it roused something protective within her. Something enraged by the sight of the weapons in their hands. She turned to Splinter with a look of challenge in her eye. "And is this art usually taught to children?"

But Splinter only smiled. "No. And yes." He gestured to the ground and the four kappa arranged themselves around April's boulder, their faces turned to their father expectantly. The kneeling posture they took was relaxed, yet identical in each kappa, and spoke of ritual and tradition as they listened to their father and teacher. "To understand, you must first know how we came to be the family that we are."

Michelangelo scooted a little closer, tugging on April's uninjured foot. "It's a sad story," he whispered. "It's okay if you want to cry a little."

"I shall keep that in mind," she whispered back, and he smiled with satisfaction, settling back next to Raphael.

"Fourteen years ago," Splinter began, "my life as I knew it ended in one night. In rapid succession, I lost one of the dearest friends I have ever known, and was accused of a terrible crime I did not commit. In order to save my own life, I was forced to accept a sentence of exile, and came to this land with almost nothing left of my former life. I had known of the fear your people have for those who appear... different, as I do. But I had not known the full extent of it, nor the cruelty that such fear can drive men to. I learned very quickly to avoid your kind whenever possible, and keep myself to the depths of this forest."

April found her cheeks heating with embarrassment on behalf of her people, but she said nothing. There was nothing in his story she could refute. Until a few short days ago, she had _been_ one of those people.

"It was not long after I arrived in what you so quaintly call the Demon Forest that I came across a group of hunters in the wood. They were quite excited about the creature they had captured, so I followed them. And what I found..."

Michelangelo turned his face to his brother, and Raphael wrapped an arm around him in answer.

Splinter sighed heavily. "They had captured a kappa. She was badly injured when the hunters I followed reached her, and I saw her death from my hiding place. At first, I could not understand how such a thing could have come to pass. Kappa are skilled woodcrafters, excellent at remaining unseen, and yet this one had allowed a group of hunters of only middling skill to capture her, and put up little resistance at the end. But it was not until I saw them carrying her away that I realized that her discovery was no accident. She had _let_ them see her. Because she needed to draw their attention away from something else."

He rested a hand against Leonardo's shell as the elder kappa shifted toward him. "So I followed the hunters' trail back to where it had diverted in pursuit of the kappa, and made my way through the forest along the hunters' original path. That was I found the kappa's nest. And her infant children."

April had been humouring Michelangelo earlier, but she could not help the tears that stung her eyes and dampened her cheeks now. She could see it, in her mind's eye, and it made her heart ache with a physical pain. Donatello quietly reached into one of the pouches on his belt and withdrew a scrap of soft fabric. She accepted it gratefully, wiping at her face as Splinter continued.

"The young ones were frightened, and hungry, but they came to me without hesitation or suspicion of this strange creature not of their own kind. Their trust was absolute. And I knew as soon as I set eyes on them that I could not leave them to await a mother who would not return. I spent the night with them, but no other family came for them, and there was no sign of any other around the home that their mother had built. So I brought them back with me, to the refuge I had created here." His hand moved against Leonardo's shell, a gesture of absent, familiar affection. "I had thought there would be no joy in my life after my exile. The children proved me wrong. It was not long before it became clear that we were, in fact, a family. Not one I had ever thought to create for myself when I was young and untried, but one I would not give up for the world."

He turned his gaze upon her, and she could not help but recoil from the intensity of it. "Do you understand, highness, why I train my sons to defend themselves from the world that made my family what it is?"

"Yes," she whispered, and her breath caught. "I am sorry."

Splinter's expression softened, and he shook his head. "You were concerned for the well-being of my sons. There is no need to apologize for that. It is a feeling I understand all too well."

Michelangelo stared up at her, his blue eyes wide, and he tugged anxiously on the edge of the rough shift she wore. "Please don't cry, April. It's okay now. Really. That was a long time ago."

Donatello's face showed as much concern as his brother's, and he nodded earnestly. "Our story might have started off sad, but we're really happy here. You…" he blushed and glanced away. "You could be, too."

At that, April and Splinter exchanged a look of mutual understanding, and Splinter patted Donatello's shell lightly. "Let us concentrate on getting her highness well, first. We shall deal with the rest as we come to it." He tapped his stick against the ground in a silent command, and the four kappa obeyed instantly, ranging themselves through the trees that ringed the pool.

Splinter looked down at April and gestured toward the kappa, now all but invisible in the dappled foliage. "Would you like to observe their training?"

"Oh, yes," April exclaimed, hugging Klunk closer. The cat redoubled her purrs and burrowed her head beneath April's arm in reply. "Yes, please."

"Very well," the kerema said with a gentle smile, and turned back to his children. "Begin!"

The graceful, deadly games began again, but as intently as April watched the kappa as they moved through the cover of the forest, she found herself losing track of them more often than not, and in those moments, she watched Splinter instead. And as she did so, she marvelled that she could have mistaken the look on his face for anything other than overwhelming love and pride.


	4. That Which is not Done (an interlude)

_This is for the incomparable nicollini, who not only created Children of the Forest, but illustrates it as well. If you haven't checked out her tumblr yet, do it post-haste. There you can find pictures of Neri, Kero, and the babies._

_Happy birthday, Nicole! I hope you had a wonderful day._

* * *

**That Which Is Not Done**

The sun that filtered through the canopy was warm on tired scales, and welcome after a week's long work. She knelt by the edge of the lake in a brief moment of respite, her eyes closed as she listened to the soft humming that drifted across the surface of the waters, occasionally adding her own counterpoint as the mood struck her. It was always so at gathering time, but the extra work that went to providing for the increased numbers was made far less arduous by the little things such as this. She enjoyed the music, and wished that her own family was more predisposed to it.

"Daydreaming, Neri?"

She looked up, smiling in invitation as Daru approached from behind her. Her cousin knelt at Neri's side, casting a questioning look at her empty net.

"Not daydreaming," Neri said, nudging Daru's shoulder with her own. "Just... thinking."

Daru clucked and shook her head, setting the beads around her neck to clicking against one another. "Thinking does not fill hungry bellies," she chided, and took half of Neri's net in her hands. "What is it that fills your head instead?"

Neri cast her cousin a rueful grin, raising her side of the net. "Mother is on about it again." Together, they cast the net out over the waters, where it disappeared with barely a splash. Pulling the net's tether out from its loose knot around her wrist, Neri ran the frayed rope between her fingers.

Daru sighed. "I do not know why you fight it so fiercely. You _should _take a mate. It's fun. And then, if fortune smiles upon you, there are babies to brighten your day." Daru raised her hand, proudly fingering the beads on her necklace that had come during her courtship, and the two that stood for the two of her four surviving children old enough to have received their names.

"And if I do not feel that I am ready for children?"

Daru looked at her, and shook her head again. "You always were a strange one, Neri. You are well past your age of independence. Why wouldn't you be ready for children?"

Neri looked away in answer, twisting the rope in her hands and bringing the net up from the depths of the water and flinging it to the beach. She stared down at the writhing silver bodies of the fish that lay gasping within the strands of her net, and sighed. "Perhaps I am just not ready to be tied down."

Daru's face was tense with confusion as she regarded her younger cousin. "You say the strangest things, sometimes," she said at last. "But come. You have some fine fish for your family. Perhaps tonight some fine young male will come and share his fish by your fire."

"And what if I want to eat my own fish?" Neri muttered darkly.

"But... that's not..."

"Not how it's done," Neri said. "I know." She rose to her feet, drawing her net with her. "Pay me no mind, Daru, I am in a strange mood today." She offered her hand, tugging her cousin up with her. "Let us take these to Mother, and you can show me your two fine new babies."

That brightened Daru up considerably, and she surged ahead, dragging Neri by the hand. "Ah, yes! Grandmother is particularly taken with dark-eyed one, but I think both of them will live to their naming day. Females usually do better than males in that regard, do they not? Why, just the other week…"

Smiling, Neri allowed herself to be dragged in Daru's wake. It wasn't that she was opposed to the idea of children. Not at all. It was just that she didn't want to clutch with just _any_ mate. She wanted to clutch with one who _understood_ her.

But then, she had to keep that to herself. Because, like so many things Neri preferred, that was just not how it was done.

* * *

"I cannot believe that you would not share with even one!"

Neri smiled to herself as she dangled one foot in the water, glancing up at her cousin from her perch on the log overhanging the lake. It had seemed as good a place of any to mend the fish trap, and it gave her a good vantage point to watch the antics of the children playing in the water. But Daru, it seemed, would not allow Neri that small luxury. She stormed across the log toward her, sitting with a thunk that sent ripples through the water below, and pulled the basket from Neri's hands. "Not _one?_"

"None of them interested me," Neri said.

"Neri, it is not a matter of _interest_. You merely need look for a male who - _children, you leave that forest rat alone! Put that down! What do you think you are doing? _- who will give you a good clutch and provide for you through your gravid state. What has interest to do with any of that?"

"Nothing," Neri said, pulling the basket back. "I just..."

She was saved from being forced to articulate thoughts that even she did not know how to express by a shout from across the lake. The children's game had managed to intrude upon a gathering of young males, and it was the gruffest and stockiest of the group who had put up the loudest protest, shooing the children away. Still glowering, he sat back down, to the accompaniment of the laughter of the other young males. Ignoring them, he returned to what he had been doing, carving a block of wood with a small knife.

"Well," Daru sighed. "We must have _some_ choice. Imagine being stuck with a mate like cranky Kero over there."

"Hmmm," Neri said, her fingers resuming the familiar weaving of the repairs on her trap, even as she watched the group of males. "What do you suppose he is doing?"

Daru followed her gaze and shrugged. "Who knows why any male would chose to mess about with a bit of old driftwood. Now, your mother has a nice male in mind from the clan who arrived yesterday..."

And Daru was off again. Biting back the retort that longed to burst free of her tongue, Neri continued her work on the trap and did her best to let Daru's words flow over her as the waters of the lake flowed over her foot. It was inevitable at gathering time. It would blow over. It always did.

* * *

But she was wrong. She had underestimated her mother's resolve, and was unprepared for the repercussions of her indecisiveness. For her mother was no longer content to nag at Neri with Daru's assistance. Her mother had gone to Grandmother.

"-and she turned away yet _another_ male with fish last night." Her mother gestured emphatically at Neri as she stood before the oldest female of their clan.

"It was a yellow fish," Neri protested. "I don't like-"

"Neri."

All it took was that single word from Grandmother to send Neri's head retreating halfway into her shell like a little child. Silently, she waited for her Grandmother's pronouncement.

Her mother cast Neri a look of satisfaction. "Thank you, Mother. I knew you would-"

"Maera."

Another name from Grandmother, and Neri's mother was cowering just as badly as her daughter.

With a sigh, Grandmother shook her head. "I wish to speak to Neri alone."

"But-" Maera began

"Come, child," Grandmother said, holding a hand out to Neri. With an apologetic glance at her mother, Neri followed Grandmother away from the fire and into the quiet darkness of the forest. When they were some distance away, Grandmother stopped and eased herself down onto the stump of a fallen tree. Without waiting, Neri knelt at her feet, gazing up at the wise old kappa.

Grandmother looked down at her, and ran a gentle hand over her head. "Oh, Neri. Whatever am I to do with you?"

Neri leaned into the touch, closing her eyes at the comfort of it. "I am sorry, Grandmother. I do not wish to be contrary."

"No." Grandmother's voice rang with amusement. "You never do. And yet, we are here again, as it has been since you were very small."

Neri ducked her head again, retreating back into her shell.

Grandmother made a soft noise, swatting Neri with loving reprimand on the back of her shell. "Come out of there, child. I am not cross with you. Contrary to what you may think, I do understand."

Neri emerged, blinking. "You do?"

"Of course I do, child. I _have_ had my experience with mates before. How else do you think I find myself matriarch to so many wayward children?"

Neri couldn't help smiling at that, and she laced her fingers together in her lap. "So will you talk to Mother and ask her to stop?"

"Oh, no. Certainly not. I agree with her."

Shock and dismay raced through Neri as she looked up at her Grandmother. "But..."

"Not for your mother's reasons, of course. But she is not wrong." Grandmother held out her hands. After a moment, Neri took them and let herself be pulled onto the stump next to her grandmother. She remained stiff for as long as she could when Grandmother's arm went around her, but could not help relaxing into the touch.

"It is a harsh world, Neri-child," Grandmother said quietly. "And it grows harsher still. Our children perish before us in greater numbers than they ever have. Your mother does not realize this, but our numbers are dropping. Dangerously so." Grandmother sighed. "I have no wish to force anything upon you, but I can no longer ignore the fact that there is no reason why you should not have your first clutch. We _need_ children, Neri. Rather desperately, if our kind are to survive."

Her Grandmother's hold on her was warm, and Neri snuggled deeper into it against the cold that laced its icy tendrils through her at her grandmother's words. Neri hadn't known it was as bad as all that, but the thought of their kind dying out... Her mind shuddered away from the thought, and her body shivered in sympathy. Grandmother's other arm came around her, and Neri drew a trembling breath as she rested her head against Grandmother's plastron, taking comfort in the shelter of those aged arms. "I had no idea."

"Few do, outside of the matriarchs," Grandmother said. "We do not wish to frighten our children needlessly. Not yet. There is still hope." She placed a finger beneath Neri's chin and tilted her head up to meet her gaze. "That hope lies in you and your sisters."

At last, Neri nodded, and leaned against Grandmother as the older Kappa stroked her head lightly. "Why tell me at all?" Neri asked.

"Because you _think_ about things," Grandmother answered, the humour back in her voice. "I have always hoped that you might be a matriarch yourself someday." As Neri turned startled eyes back up to her, Grandmother tapped her smartly on the nose. "But for that, there must be children."

"Yes, Grandmother."

Grandmother let out a sharp bark of laughter. "Oh, child, you needn't sound like I have condemned you to a life of servitude. It is not all unpleasantness - most matings are rather enjoyable, and you have no reason to see him after the eggs are clutched if you find his company intolerable." She looked fondly down upon Neri, and cuddled her close. "You will enjoy having children, I think. Not every kappa is suited to it, but you... You, I think, will do rather well."

She laughed again at Neri's expression, and swatted the back of Neri's head with gentle affection. "All right, fine. If you _truly_ cannot find a mate you can tolerate, then I release you from your obligation. Does that suit you?"

"Yes, Grandmother," Neri said.

Grandmother smiled. "Good. Now help an old kappa down from here and take me back to the fire. I may not have attractive young males offering to share their fish any more, but I may at least take pleasure in the many grandchildren I have to do that for me." She snorted. "And great-grandchildren now, as it happens."

Grinning, Neri did as she was bid and hopped off the stump, holding her hand out for her grandmother. The many strings of beads around Grandmother's neck rattled and clicked in a gentle music as they walked, and Neri found herself contemplating them. There were many reasons why a bead might come to a kappa female, though mating was one of the chiefest amongst them, and though she had heard some of the stories behind Grandmother's beads during nights around the fire, there were still many left unaccounted for. But each of the beads around her neck was part of the story that made Grandmother the formidable force that she was, and if that was so, then it couldn't be all bad.

* * *

Grandmother had given her a great deal to think about, and so the next day found her alone on the tiny island in the middle of the lake, casting her fishing net from there into the deep waters. It was a good place for thinking, though a terrible spot for catching fish. At the very least, there were some berries that grew here; she couldn't be accused of shirking if she brought at least a few of them back to the fire that night. But with the forest full of gathering kappa, it was one of the few places in which she could be guaranteed some time alone with her thoughts.

Though even the seclusion of the island was not enough to save her from Daru's voice. Neri winced inwardly as her cousin's strident tone drifted across the water. "_Reekai!_"

Idly wondering what her littlest nephew had done to incur his mother's wrath, Neri searched across the shore for him, and finally located him in the water a good distance out, his little feet paddling madly. Neri chuckled softly under her breath, shaking her head. Reekai's love of the water was his mother's undoing, and it would appear that he had slipped her grasp once again.

If she hadn't been watching him, she would have missed the subtle stirring in the water nearby. It was only because her attention was already directed that way that she saw it. She was on her feet in a heartbeat, pounding across the rocks of the island, her voice raised in desperate alarm. "_Balefish!"_

They were rare in these waters, though not unheard of, but it had been many, many years since a balefish had last troubled any of the tribes. They avoided adult kappa as a general rule. But a lone kappa child, far from the protection of his tribe, was the perfect target for one of the massive sharp-toothed fish, which legend said had been formed out of hunger and malice at the beginning of the world.

Her nephew's terrified scream echoed across the waters, and there was no thought in her. Only the desperate need to act as she vaulted from the shoal at the end of the island and let the dark waters close over her.

She was a good swimmer at the best of times, but desperation spurred her on, and she all but flew through the water toward the place where her nephew floundered. She was by far the closest; the kappa on the shore had been mustering, but they would never reach Reekai in time. Even as close as Neri was, she was still painfully far away as she closed on the little one, and saw the dark shape of the balefish's fin slicing through the water toward him. Saw the enormous mouth open, baring gleaming teeth. And her arm snapped forward, hurling the net still thoughtlessly clenched in her fingers and ensnaring the balefish in its web.

The net was not designed for anything so large or so cruel. The only thing she could do was grab both edges of it and hold it closed, and hope desperately that the others got Reekai out of the way in time. She cried out as the thrashing fish turned and raked her arm with its razor teeth, losing some of her precious air in the process. But she dared not let go. Not until Reekai was safe. Her lungs began to ache, and her skin seared with the sting of the creature's teeth and spines, but still she clung.

She was not prepared for the shock as something grabbed at her arm. She turned, eyes wide in alarm, to be met with a wrathful glare as another Kappa dragged her aside, bringing up a knife and plunging it deep into the balefish's eye. The fish bucked once and went still, and suddenly it was a dead weight in her net; only then did she realize that the tether was still tied around her wrist. She let out a startled cry, more air escaping as it dragged her down, and she scrabbled desperately at the cord that pulled impossibly tight, knowing that she would never get it off in time...

But a hard hand locked on her shell, and she saw the gleam of the knife slicing at the rope around her wrist, and suddenly she was being dragged back to the surface. She broke the waters, gagging and gasping, and the hands of many kappa grabbed at her to hold her steady, tugging her toward the shore. She struggled in their grasp, still half-hysterical, desperate to see the kappa who had come after her. But when she finally managed to catch sight of the other group of kappa in the water, she was faced with the sight of cranky Kero shrugging out of the hands of his friends and cursing at their insistence, the little knife still clutched in his hands.

It took some time for the excitement to die down. Reekai was unharmed, though Daru was half-mad with fear and shock, and most of the attention of the tribe had to be directed to calming the hysterical young mother down. That left Reekai alone, sobbing quietly on the shores of the lake, and Neri longed to go to him, but she was trapped in the care of two Aunties who had taken it upon themselves to treat the wounds she had received from the balefish. And so it was that she was left with the perfect vantage to watch Kero approach the weeping child and kneel down next to him, holding something in his hands. Reekai blinked as Kero spoke, the tears fading as he took what Kero offered. As Reekai clutched the strange object to his chest with both hands, Neri finally recognized the piece of wood that Kero had been carving with that same little knife for so many days, now cunningly fashioned into a little wooden forest rat.

* * *

The crowd around the fire was large that night as the tribes came together, seeking comfort against the fear of the day. Neri found herself on the receiving end of Daru's watery thanks before the Aunties and Maera took charge of her. After a long while, she managed to duck away from the others, claiming the roasting fish she had caught after the whole ordeal from where it sat by the fire and placing it in a worn old bowl she had carved long ago. Trailing the sweet steam from the fish in her wake, she made her way to the rock where a lone figure sat at some distance from the fire, poking at the dirt with a stick while he waited for his fish to cook.

He looked up at her in bewilderment as she stood over him. "Yes?"

Smiling, Neri held out her bowl. "Hello, Kero. I was wondering if you would like to share my fish tonight."

Blinking, his gaze shifted between her and the fish. "But... but that's..."

"Not how it is done?" Neri's smile widened. "I know."

He stared up at her a moment longer before a smile to match her own blossomed across his face, changing that stoic and grumpy countenance to one that was filled with warmth, and challenge, and just a little mischief. Without a word, he shifted over to make space for her. Still smiling, Neri sat next to him, and they shared the fish between them. And she had to admit, never before or afterward did a fish taste quite so sweet as the one they shared that night.

* * *

Kappa employed their woodcraft often to hide from predators or strangers, but rarely against one another. Still, she could not help herself. She enjoyed watching him as he worked, his muscles straining against the net as he pulled in the day's catch. She knew that being so furtive was wrong, but she did it anyway. At least, until she could not contain herself any longer. She left the shelter of the underbrush, and he caught sight of her moments later, and she felt a thrill deep within her at the smile that her presence drew out of him. He emptied his catch into the waiting basket weighted in the shallows and straightened, slinging his net over his shoulder. "I was wondering where you had gone."

"Berries will not pick themselves, silly male," she chided, laughter shining in her brown eyes to answer his. She let out a small squeak as he reached out and poked her in the sensitive spot beneath her arm, just above the bridge of her shell, and she smacked his hand away. "Keep that up and I will not give you any."

"Then I shall have to keep all these fish to myself," he taunted back, eliciting a small snort of laughter from her.

"You wouldn't dare. You would become as round as Reekai."

She was rewarded by the deep rumble of his laugh as he waded from the shallows, following her gaze to where her nephew played on the shore with his wooden toy. "Daru is still spoiling him rotten, then?"

"She will stop. Someday." Neri sighed. "Today is not that day."

They walked down the beach together, leaving the fish where they were. They were safe enough in the basket, contained but kept fresh by the cool water, and the younger tribe members would collect them later to prepare them. As they neared the place where the little ones played, Neri glanced over at Kero. "If the balefish had not decided that Reekai looked to be a tasty meal that day, where would that little forest rat be now?"

Kero gave her a glance of surprise, and cleared his throat in mild embarassment. "Still with Reekai." At the look she gave him, he let out a frustrated sound, but she was quickly finding that he had great difficulty keeping anything from her if she asked it. "I saw how the older children ignore him. And that he liked forest rats. So I was making it for him. So he would have something to play with." The stubborn, defiant look he wore so often was back, and he wouldn't meet her gaze.

"Hmmm." Neri said thoughtfully. "Then I think I can feel more confident in my decision over this," she said. Like many of her kind, she often wore a pouch on a long cord over one shoulder - it was useful for collecting things one came across, like berries and other good things to eat. But for several days, hers had had something else inside of it. She reached inside the pouch and pulled out the treasure she had been keeping hidden. She had found the patterned stone on a lakebed a long time ago, and relished the way the waves had worn a hole through the centre of the stone and polished it smooth as a newborn's shell. She held it up to him, dangling from the leather cord she had fed through the hole. "This is for you."

He stared at her for a moment before he reached out and took it carefully in one of his big, strong hands. "But… males are supposed to give gifts to the females. This is not-"

"Not done?" She smiled. "Really Kero, have you _met_ me?" Neri held out her hand. "But I will take it back if you do not like it."

"No, no," he said quickly, and slipped the cord over his head. "I like it...very much." It hung neatly against his chest, the flecks of blue in the stone picking up the colour of his eyes. A blush spread across his cheeks as he pulled his own pouch off and handed it to her. "Then I suppose now is the time to give this to you."

Neri cast him a quizzical look as she accepted the pouch and tugged it open, perplexed by the strange rattling sound it made. An instant later, a shocked squeak escaped her. She dropped down in the sand, holding out a hand so she could pour the contents of the pouch into it. More than a dozen wooden beads tumbled out, each one intricately carved with details the likes of which she had never seen. These were _far_ more elaborate and numerous than the beads traditionally given with courtship.

"I know, they're not usual," he said, toying with the strands of his net. "But I like carving things, and I thought... And then I kept trying again but they kept coming out all... I can make you some normal ones if you'd rather..."

"Silly male," she said in a choked voice, putting them back into the pouch. "I shall never fit them all on this." Her fingers ran over the cord that hung from her neck, containing the few beads she had acquired over the course of her life. She rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand, and smiled at him before taking his hand and tugging him down next to her. "I shall have to figure out a new way of stringing them."

His answering smile was sweeter than any berry. As the sun set that night, they remained on the beach, the fish forgotten. She leaned against him, braiding the beads onto a series of long, intertwined cords, as he watched the sky change colour. And when at last their growling bellies drove them to the fire to scavenge the last of the fish, sharing the morsels between them, she did not miss the envious looks cast her by the other kappa females. She did not doubt there would be more braided necklaces before long, but she could take pride in the fact that she was the first. And she was rather certain that no male seated around the fire could give his mate a bead half as pretty as one of Kero's.

When the gathered kappa began to break up for the night and Kero moved to join his brothers, Neri's hand on his arm stilled him. He looked over at her, a question in his eyes, and she took his hand. "Come with me," she said quietly.

As she led the bewildered male from the light of the fire, she did not miss Grandmother's look of approval. The others might question her, her mother among them, but Grandmother, at least, understood. Neri drew Kero farther, until all sound of the others faded away. Then, as she led him around a particularly large tree, she stopped and looked up at him with pride. Before them lay the shelter she had constructed in the lee of a large stone cliff face. It wasn't large, but it was sturdy, and the nest inside was warm.

Comprehension gradually dawned across his face, and he turned his disbelieving gaze to her. "Are you sure? Neri, I- You could... I'm not..."

Ever so carefully, she took his face between her hands. It was strange not to have to bend down to a male, but he was unusually large. With a fond laugh, she nuzzled him gently, rewarded by his stunned silence. "I have never been more sure of anything," she answered him.

Once again, she was rewarded by the sweetness of his smile as it broke over her like the sun.

She had known he would be strong - she had never forgotten the strength and the power in the arms that had dragged her from the depths of the lake. But she had not anticipated his gentleness, or the control with which he used that strength. Or the laughter, as his clever fingers sought out those sensitive places and left her helpless with giggling. Or the warmth that spread through her as he held her after, trapped contentedly in the strength of those arms.

* * *

They remained together for the duration of the winter. Food became scarce during the colder months, but the gathered tribes were well able to provide for one another, and with Kero's and Neri's skills combined, there was no danger of them going hungry. The days passed quickly in one another's company, and Neri found she no longer minded the cold winter rains, for it meant that they must spend the day huddled in the dry warmth of the nest, and more often than not, it ended with Kero's arms around her and her head pillowed against his shoulder, listening to the soft thunder of his voice as they conversed about all manner of trivial things. On days when he felt poorly, she could manage provisions alone, and on days when she was reluctant to leave the nest, he did the same.

One such day, however, did not go precisely as she had expected. As she lay in the soft grasses at the edge of the nest, too spent and weak to do more than lift her head, she could not help but feel a sharp pang of regret. No matter how much either of them wanted things to stay the way they were, this... this would change things.

She heard him returning long before he actually arrived, his forestcraft set aside for the tuneless humming that heralded a particularly good mood. He must have caught some fine fish, she thought, and regret rushed through her again as he appeared inside the shelter, his smile vanishing like mist in sunlight as he caught sight of her.

"Neri!"

He was at her side in a heartbeat, gathering her into those fine, strong arms, and his face was a mask of worry as he looked her over, clearly frightened by the limpness of her body. "Neri, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, silly male," she said, though her voice trembled with weakness. "Only, I am more tired than I had thought I would be." She turned her head, and she felt the shock run through him as he followed her gaze to the four large eggs half-buried in the bulk of the nest. "The matriarchs do not speak of that part." She frowned. "That was singularly unpleasant."

One of his hands stroked her head absently as he stared in shock at the nest. "Four..." he breathed. And then his smile was back, and there was wonder in it as he reached out a hand. He caught himself quickly, casting an apologetic look down at her. "Sorry. I know it is-"

"Not done?" Neri snorted, gazing fondly up at him. "Silly male. Give me your hand."

He obeyed with a look of affectionate tolerance, and with his support, she had the strength to reach out for the nest. She guided his hand until his fingers brushed, ever so lightly, over the shell of the first egg. "Careful," she whispered. "The shell is soft."

Kero stared in awe as the shell dimpled ever so slightly beneath his touch, and he moved on to the next egg. It was some time before he shifted his gaze back to her, and not until each egg had received his attention. "They are warm."

"They ought to be," she said, and shifted against him. "_I_ am warm. And they will stay that way for the duration. What the leaves don't ensure, I will." She sighed. "No wonder I have been so hungry."

That brought a sharp burst of startled laughter from him. "And here I thought to be angry with you. You truly didn't know?"

"No," she said, giving her head a small shake. "I have not actually done this before, as you will recall."

"I had forgotten," he said, bending to nuzzle her. "You are remarkably good at it, for something in which you have so little practice."

"I am not the only one," she said, returning the nuzzle before sagging back against him. "Only I _am_ tired."

"Then rest," he said gently, making a spot for them next to the eggs and curling his warmth around her. "You have accomplished much today. You deserve your rest."

"But your fish," she protested weakly.

"I can catch more fish," he said, tapping her on the nose. "Now lie still and let me fuss."

But in truth, she had little strength left to protest. She let her eyes drift closed and curled more securely against the shelter of his plastron, letting his warmth and his strength wrap around her and soothe the pain and the fear of the day away.

"How many do you think will survive?" she murmured against his shoulder.

"All of them," he answered without hesitation.

She laughed softly. "You don't demand much, do you?"

"These are _our_ offspring," he reminded her, poking her beneath the arm. Exhausted as she was, he didn't get more than a little squirm out of her, and he gathered her more tightly against him. "The more people expect one or more of them to perish, the more likely they are to survive just to spite them."

"Careful," Neri said, weary smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "You'll be naming them next."

"I don't think our grandmothers would _ever_ forgive that," he said, his hand stroking lightly against her shell. "But still... I can't help but think on it."

"Neither can I," Neri admitted.

Kero bent to nuzzle her in answer, and that sweet comfort was all she needed to send her off to sleep, nestled safe between the mate she cherished and the four little eggs that housed their future.

* * *

She was expecting it. It was tradition, after all. But that didn't stop the sharp stab of pain that jolted through her when she woke to find him gone. The late afternoon sunlight filtered through the chinks in the shelter wall, which did not surprise her. Given her state the day before, she could have slept for days and not been surprised. But she had hoped that he would at least have stayed to say goodbye. She pushed herself to her feet, her knees still shaking, and took one stumbling step before her legs gave out on her.

But she did not fall. Strong arms caught her and held her close, and she found herself gazing up into Kero's worried blue eyes.

"You are still here," she breathed.

A blush spread across his face, and he coughed awkwardly. "Yes. I gathered some things for your stores, and have several fish smoking over the fire, and I fixed all of the leaks in the shelter, and..." He sighed. "And I didn't want to leave without seeing you again."

Her arms went around him, drawing him close as she nuzzled him. And as he returned the nuzzling with enthusiasm, she found the words slipping out before she could stop them. "Stay with me. One more night."

Kero jerked back, his eyes wide. "But... it is not-"

"If you finish that sentence," Neri said, "I will throw one of these eggs at you."

That familiar smile, warm and kind and edged with just a little wickedness, stole across his face, and he drew her down to the warmth of the nest. Their coming together was as sweet, and as wild, and as wonderful as that first night, and all the other nights in between.

The sun came out the next morning, beating down upon them, and there were no more excuses. She left the shelter with him, arranging his net across his back, and took his hands in both of hers. "I thank you for the lives you helped me bring into this world." The ritual words had always seemed trite to her, but now there was a whole new world of meaning behind them.

"I thank you for your choice, and for the honour of allowing me to father your children." His face was stubborn, serious, as he intoned the ritual words, but as he finished them, a look of hesitant innocence stole across his features. "Neri... do you think... when these children are grown..." He cleared his throat. "Do you think... could we..."

She released his hands to take his face between hers, and nuzzled him into silence. "Silly male," she whispered fondly. "I have no desire to clutch with any male but you. One day, we will provide some fine brothers and sisters for this lot."

The smile broke across his face like the sun emerging from the clouds, and he slowly, reluctantly, took a step away from her. "Will I see you at the gathering?"

She raised a brow. "You would like to see how your children are coming along?"

"Yes," he breathed. "I think I would like that very much."

Neri smiled and squeezed his hand. "Then I shall bring four squirmy babies to the gathering. For you. Even though it isn't done."

And that brought a laugh to his lips as he finally mustered the strength to pull away. She watched him go, and he paused at the bottom of the hill, turning to smile over his shoulder and raise his arm in a wave. She raised her own in answer, and stayed where she was long after he vanished into the trees. Finally, she returned to the eggs in her care, taking some of the provisions her thoughtful mate had gathered for her.

Grandmother had been right after all. Taking a mate had proved to be very pleasant, indeed.

* * *

Kero's provisions lasted some time. Long enough for Neri to wake one morning to a rustling in the nest as she lay curled around it. She snapped immediately to waking, alert for any sort of predator after the eggs – she was often having to chase snakes out of the nest -– but it was nothing disturbing the nest that had caused the commotion. She watched the nearest of the eggs rock once, twice, and split suddenly along its length as a frantic head poked through the shell.

She couldn't touch them. She couldn't help. Defiant as she was, this was one of the most sacred of their rites, and the babies _had_ to make their own way into the world. But that did not stop her from gathering the tiny form close as it struggled free of the shell, cradling it -– _him_ -– to her chest as he peered up at her with Kero's blue eyes.

"Hello, my eldest," she whispered, and nuzzled him gently on the top of his head. "Shall we greet your brothers?"

Afer a time, another egg rocked and split, and the second child joined the first. His eyes were a green unlike any she had seen before, but his face was entirely Kero's. Some time later, the third egg hatched, and the brown-eyed youngling blinked up at her with startled curiosity. And then she waited, with bated breath. And waited. And waited...

"No," she whispered, cradling her three babies against her chest. "I promised I would bring him four. I _promised_. We must keep our promise, little one."

And then, at last, the fourth egg split, spilling one last blue-eyed baby into the nest. Laughing even as tears streamed down her face, Neri gathered her children to her. "Four babies," she whispered. "Four beautiful boys. He was right." As a tiny, impossibly small hand curled around her finger, she felt a wave of defiance surge through her, the like of which she had never felt before. "All four," she said, and there was iron in her voice. "I shall bring him all four of you. You must _all_ survive, you hear me? All of you."

Drawing her children close, she nestled down in the softness of the nest as all four of them succumbed to the weariness of struggling from the shell. But she did not sleep right away. Instead, she lay awake, listening to the soft sounds of all four of them breathing, counting each precious breath. And when she did succumb to sleep, she dreamed of him.

* * *

_One Year Later..._

Neri hefted the basket strapped to her back, scarcely able to believe how heavy the weight of four little kappa combined could actually be. Not for the first time, she silently cursed the distance the tribe had managed to travel in the year since the last gathering. But she recognized the signs, left for those who knew how to look.

She craned her head over her shoulder, just able to see the little face peeping up over the edge of the basket, his brown eyes drinking in the world with the same curiosity with which he had regarded everything from the day he emerged from the shell. "Not long now, my little one."

He turned his head, and she felt the soft pat of tiny fingers against the back of her head, followed by the telltale rustling and jolting from the basket that told her that her babies were once again jostling for position. She made a sharp sound, a skip in her step firmly settling the basket's occupants, and they were silent once more. Then, as reliable as the sun moving across the sky, the clever one shifted to peer over the edge again.

But at last, there was something to see. A shout echoed across the hillside as she neared the lake, and suddenly there were a host of kappa swarming from the trees toward her. She heard a little squeak from the basket as the startled little ones dropped into its safety, and then Daru's arms were around her.

"Neri!" her cousin cried, drawing back to rest her hands on Neri's shoulders. "Oh, you should not have come with the babies so small, but I am so glad you did! The tribes have lost so many this year; it will do everyone good to see the little ones. Oh, come here, you precious thing." Without waiting for an answer, she descended upon the little head that was once again peeping over the basket's edge and scooped the little one out. He let out a squeak, his tiny arms and legs flailing until his cousin cuddled him close. "This one has your eyes," she said, and peered into the basket, letting out a soft gasp. "Four! Did they all survive?"

"Indeed they did," Neri laughed, rescuing her son from her cousin's enthusiastic affection. "Would you tell Grandmother that I have come? There is something I must do first." She held her son up to her shoulder and he clambered over it instantly, to be grabbed and drawn back into the basket by one of his brothers. Strongest, unless she missed her guess.

"Of course." Daru rested a hand against Neri's cheek, and smiled at her. "It is good to see you, Neri."

"And you," Neri replied. "Now off with you, or Grandmother will have both our heads."

She made her way toward the beach, returning the enthusiastic greetings of her tribemates as she went, though every time she was forced to stop to let someone admire the babies, she found her pride in them at war with her seething impatience. At last, the greetings grew more formal as she moved into the ranks of other tribes, and she found herself practically dancing in anticipation as she scanned the faces on the beach.

Finally, down by the water, she spotted a pair of familiar blue eyes in the face of one of the young males pulling in a net. One of Kero's brothers -– Laren, she thought it was. She called out a greeting, and there was recognition in his face as he dropped the net and moved toward her.

"Neri, is it not?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, eagerly scanning the faces behind him. "I bring you greeting, Laren. Can you tell me where I might find Kero?"

It was the look on his face that froze her in her tracks. "Laren?" she asked quietly.

"Neri..." he bit his lip, looking over his shoulder at his brothers. "Do you know what a vortan is?"

She did -– Kero had told her stories of the ferocious predators that lurked in the swamps where his tribe most often made their home. From the way he spoke of them, they put the balefish to shame.

"No," she breathed. "Oh, please no..."

A young kappa, who couldn't have been more than six or seven, came to stand by Laren at the urging of the others in the group. Laren looked down at him, and rested a hand against his shell. "We didn't see it until it was too late. Kero made it out of the swamp, but Peri here was trapped. Kero went back for him..."

Laren reached into the pouch at his side and pulled something from it, and Neri stared for a long, dumbfounded moment. Shock poured through her, leaving her senses dulled and her extremeties numb, and it took her some time to recognize the polished stone that dangled from the frayed cord that Laren held. She reached out at last, and took it in a trembling hand, running her fingers over the smooth surface.

There was a small commotion in the ranks of the kappa behind Laren, and Peri darted back toward them, returning a moment later with a small basket in his hands. Laren patted the young kappa on the head and took the basket from him. "Kero wanted to give these to you at the gathering. He spoke very highly of you." Gently, Laren pressed the basket into her hands. "If it is not too forward, may I come to meet the young ones at the gathering time?"

"Yes..." Neri looked down at the basket in her hands. "Yes, of course."

Laren smiled at her, and it was all she could do to retain her composure in the face of that too-familiar expression. Hastily, she stammered out her leave and all but fled, making her stumbling way back to her own tribe's gathering place.

She moved past the others in a daze, brushing off their reaching hands and their exclamations of concern, pleading weariness and a need to rest. She made it to a secluded clearing just outside of the firelight before her legs gave way and she fell to her knees with a strangled sound that might have been a sob.

A soft protest from the basket at her back called her attention back to it, and she slipped it from her shoulders, setting it carefully in the grass next to her. As a second, third, and finally fourth head joined the first in peering over the edge, Neri's shaking hands finally managed to loosen the clasp holding the lid on the basket Laren had given her. Lifting the lid carefully, her breath caught as she saw what lay within.

Four carved wooden figures stared up from the depths of the basket: an eliara, a tree cat, a turtle, and a forest rat.

"Four," she whispered, and felt the sting of tears in her eyes. "He never doubted."

She lifted the basket into the waiting hands of her children, biting the edge of her finger to stop herself from crying out, and let them sort the toys out between them.

"Neri?"

The soft voice from the edge of the clearing was both the first and the last she wanted to hear, and she looked up with a protest on her lips. But it died before it was born, for her grandmother was not alone, and the green eyes that regarded her from the face of the second aged matriarch were painfully familiar.

Grandmother and the other matriarch knelt in the grass before her, and grandmother took Neri's hand in hers. "Daru told us you had arrived, and Bera wished to see you before she returned to her tribe."

"Of—of course," Neri stammered, bowing her head to the other matriarch.

"So these are my great-grandchildren," Bera said, gesturing at the basket. "May I see them?"

Neri nodded quietly, and carefully tipped the basket on its side. Her little ones spilled forth, tumbling over one another, their new toys falling between them.

Bera clucked approvingly at the little ones, and cast Grandmother a knowing look as she took in Neri's expression. "You were right," she said. "She went and got attached to him."

"Of course she did,"Grandmother said, not unkindly. "Neri never does anything traditional if she can possibly help it."

At that, a strangled cry left her, but before the tears could fall, she found herself wrapped in the hold of two pairs of caring, motherly arms. She drew in a shuddering breath, clinging to the matriarchs with everything she had in her. "I just c-cannot believe he is g-gone."

"Oh, sweet child," Bera said, stroking Neri's shell. "You are wrong. Kero is still with you." As Neri raised red-rimmed eyes to the elder kappa, Bera gestured to the grass nearby. "Look there."

Neri did so, to see youngest sitting in the grass with tears streaming down his face as eldest and wisest fought over the little wooden eliara. As she watched, strongest stormed his way over, pushing between the two and taking the eliara from them, which he promptly handed to youngest. Instantly, the tears stopped, and the smile that broke over her youngest's face was like the sun emerging from the clouds.

"I didn't think of it that way," she said faintly.

"Oh, Neri-child. You are not the first kappa to form a bond with your mate that goes beyond your children," Grandmother said, her soft voice as soothing as cool water. "You have heard the stories, have you not?"

Neri shook her head, holding out her arms as eldest toddled over to her and climbed into her lap, intent on showing her the tree cat he held. She stroked his shell absently as she looked up at Grandmother.

"It is said that when two kappa form such a connection, their spirits will join each other in the next world." Grandmother's arm drew Neri close, and she nuzzled the top of Neri's head. "It is all right to mourn him, child. We will understand."

"It is not done," Bera said. "But sometimes, that which is not done is most in need of doing."

"Take tonight for yourself," Grandmother repeated. "And then set it aside. Your first duty is your children now."

"And they are a very fine clutch of children," Bera added, picking up strongest as he brought his turtle over to his great-grandmother.

"Yes," Neri agreed, unable to repress a small, tremulous smile as she looked over her babies. "They are."

Grandmother stroked Neri's head one last time before picking up youngest and adding him to Neri's lap. "Take this night for yourself and your children; I will see that food is brought to you and that you are left otherwise undisturbed. But tomorrow, you must join the rest of your family. "

"Listen to your Grandmother," Bera said, adding strongest to Neri's pile. "You are a strong kappa. My grandson would not have courted you otherwise. You will weather this storm, and your children will grow up knowing that they are loved."

Hugging her children close, Neri nodded, not trusting her voice in that moment. Quietly, the matriarchs took their leave as Neri curled on her side and gathered her children close, and after a time, she fell asleep to the sound of their breathing in the dark.

She dreamed that night, as she had not dreamed for nearly a year. She sat on the beach, letting the warm rays of the late afternoon sun warm her as she watched her children playing in the shallows, shrieking in delight over the antics of the little crabs that scuttled across the stones.

She was not entirely sure when she realized that she was not alone any longer, but she did not need to look up to recognize the solid, reassuring weight of the kappa next to her. She leaned against him, letting her head rest against his shoulder as they watched the children play.

"I can scarcely believe it," he said at last. "I know everyone professes to have fathered the finest children, but I think in this case it is truth."

"Of course it is," Neri said with a soft laugh. "There are no children finer in any forest in this world. They are _our_ children." She hesitated a moment and added, very softly, "you like them, then?"

A finger poked the sensitive place beneath her arm and she let out a yelp of laughter to match his. "I love them," he corrected, and his arms came around her. "I am so very proud of you, Neri."

She felt the lump begin in her throat then, and her hands came up to cover his. "I do not wish to do this alone."

"You are not alone," he said. "Never. I shall be waiting for you."

"Do you promise?"

He let go of her then, but only long enough to turn her to face him, and for the first time in far too long, she was staring into his blue eyes as his hands came up to cradle her face. "I shall wait for you until our children no longer have need of either of us," he said firmly. "Until the end of time, if need be. That, I promise." And as he nuzzled her gently, Neri closed her eyes and lost herself in the sweetness of his touch, and in the laughter of their children as they played. The soft thunder of his laugh rolled through her, and she felt several somethings drop into her hand before he closed her fingers about them.

When she woke, it was to the feeling of drying tears on her face, but the horrible ache was gone, and only a soft sorrow remained. Three of the children still slumbered against her, but the fourth was awake, playing with his little wooden forest rat. His brown eyes met hers and he smiled, showing the little gap between his teeth, before he went back to playing with the toy.

It was a few moments before she realized what had woken her. Her son was humming to himself as he played. She had once thought that hum tuneless, but she realized now that it was not. It could not be, for she had heard it before. As her baby boy played in the grass before her, humming his father's song, she found herself truly smiling at last.

She opened her hand, and looked at the four carved and polished beads within. Four beads, one for each child, though he could not have known that all four would survive. "Until the end of time, then," she whispered, and she rose to greet the day.


End file.
